


Hush of Fires Calling

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor waits - rather impatiently, due to the company and frustratingly obvious lack thereof - to find Mairon alone in the forge.  Set before Mairon's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush of Fires Calling

**Author's Note:**

> So this little thing was kind of, sort of a request? from an anon who has always signed as Anonon. You certainly gave me the idea, at any rate, and I appreciate it greatly.
> 
> Well - this is a direct companion piece to _Guide When Eyes Grow Dim_ , the previous story posted, and follows right before/at the same time as, though from a different perspective. It is absolutely not necessary to read that story first, however! And in fact, this one will tie over into my next story with some themes carried forward. As always, set before Mairon’s corruption.
> 
> (Still taking requests! Let me know if you have one - or several.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Hammer falls echoed into the corridor outside the Great Forge, the dull thudding clang twisting around him and brushing away into empty nothingness.

Not the work of Mairon’s hammer, of this Melkor was certain. He leaned against the wall and listened, fully discontent, as the falls came again and again. No, not Mairon at all. These were _feeble_ , compared to his. Muted as they hit off center and lacking in the refined restraint that only came with untaught skill. One of Aulë’s other precious Maia - his name forgotten and quite unimportant in that moment. He must be there, harnessing the energy of the forge for whatever he was attempting to create.

Mairon was near, as well. Melkor could feel him with only the smallest effort of concentration, the golden flame of his spirit set apart from the roaring furnace nearby and just as fierce. 

How he wished the other would _leave_ , promptly and without any additional tarry. A wishful dream. Always dragging at Mairon’s heels, posing ignorant questions of their work and basking in his attention when it was finally given, as though his fellow’s response was so highly sought as Aulë’s! It was frightfully tiresome. How Mairon dealt with it was beyond his comprehension.

Tiresome especially, Melkor mused with a heavy sigh pulled fleetingly from his body, when he had come all this distance to while away his own time in Mairon’s company. Time that was become limited in this place and did not include the likes of this undesirable interference. 

He closed his eyes, reaching out his magnificent senses to take in the many atmospheres around him. Sounds met his ears, light chatter from the forge between the pounding hammer and scrape of other tools. The Maia was speaking of something so inconsequential a fury burned tight within his chest, that he was still there at all, and Mairon let out a soft, chiming laugh - one of respectful deference to whatever had passed between them. The fury subsided as Mairon’s lulling voice overtook the first, giving gentle instruction, guidance to achieve some splendid task. 

Color exploded on that eternal plane, flurries passing quickly in the undefined space that was so close, and yet so very far. Flickering yellows and citrine hues of fire, of _magic_ to be wrought - swirling together into elegant masses and apart again. One, a cluster of spiraling vermillions and saffrons, this he could only assume was the foul creature who dared trespass into Mairon’s - and his _own_ , truly, the greater misfortune - space, his very time. And there, so bright it outshone them all, was a pulse of brilliantly deep gold streaked through with white like tongues of flame. It was not a sight he could see with his physical eyes, and not one he sought often otherwise, but there it was still. 

Every soul glimmered with such creation, each unique and powerful, and this one… _this one_ called to him, sang so sweetly with a sound unheard.

Time passed swiftly in this place between, and Melkor returned his grounding to the present space amidst the sound of voices once more. The Maia whose presence he so deplored was asking another question, speaking of something Mairon was working on that Melkor was unable to see himself. It irked him greatly, that he must lurk behind in wait - he, whose great power was so envied, thwarted by one so beneath him.

And yet he pressed back into a corner of shadows, all but vanishing with them, as the Maia’s footsteps grew near, leaving the forge at long last for the corridor where he was biding the limitless hours. He was unnoticed there, melting into the inky darkness cast by such sparse lanterns, their fires dim with his breath.

Melkor watched the other go and slowly reemerged from the shadowy cover. That infinite golden pulse grew at his back, calling so strongly with its silent song, until he turned to enter the forge.

Mairon was standing there, backlit by the blazing hearth and intense fires he so loved, and any remaining traces of vehemence fled at the sight, his very soul soothed. Even if his presence there now meant dealing with the horrible notion of _heat_ , as he quickly realized. A rather uncomfortable sensation, and he wasted no time saying so. 

Perhaps he preferred the hallway after all. Or not, truly, though he would never admit it aloud.


End file.
